


Wings

by Eikaron



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Emotional moment, M/M, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-08 23:58:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12264720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eikaron/pseuds/Eikaron
Summary: To put your hands on anyone else's wings without their express permission was a privilege reserved only for your closest and most beloved friends; a taboo so strong that even several millenia spent on the other side had not been able to shake it out of Crowley.





	Wings

„Race you to the top?“, said Crowley and nodded towards the east, where the city's cathedral rose proudly above the adjacent roofs; the cross on top of its highest tower glistening in the early morning sun. He peered at Aziraphale over the rim of his sunglasses with a provocative smirk. „Betcha I'll be there before you're even halfway.“

„Crowley, this body might be a bit on the heavy side but I assure you, my wings are not“, said Aziraphale calmly. „I'm afraid you quite overestimate your abilities. As usual, my dear.“

„Prove it, angel“, said Crowley and raised an eyebrow.

„Very well“, said Aziraphale with an exaggerated huff. „The loser pays for breakfast“, he added.

„I _never_ pay for breakfast“, said Crowley, indignantly.

„You will today, my dear.“

They took up position on the roof; wings spread, their eyes fixed on the distant building

„On count of three“, said Crowley and grinned. Aziraphale merely nodded.  
„One...three!“, Crowley shouted and started running towards the edge of the roof. To his chagrin, the angel was running right beside him, with not even a hint of surprise on his face.

„You've become predictable, old chap!“, Aziraphale called as he hurled himself off the roof and into the sky, quickly gaining altitude.

„I thought you guys weren't supposed to cheat!“

„It's not cheating if it's against a demon!“

He turned his head and smirked at Crowley, who stuck out a forked tongue and flapped his wings harder.

The race was on.

 

~~~

 

In the end, Aziraphale's slightly pudgy body could not quite compete with Crowley's lither frame although it did come perilously close. An unfair advantage, Aziraphale told the demon once they had settled on another flat rooftop, with their legs dangling over the edge and both of them being more out of breath than they cared to admit. The cathedral would have been nice to sit on but was sadly out of the question on account of burning Crowley's butt.

„I'm genuinely impressed, angel“, said Crowley and meant it. „That _was_ close.“

„Told you so“, said Aziraphale and allowed himself a tinge of smugness in his voice.

„So, what's for breakfast?“, asked Crowley.

Aziraphale smiled and reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a pair of red, juicy apples.

„Here!“, he said and tossed one to Crowley. „Don't eat it all in one go.“

„You've gotta be kidding me, angel. You said loser pays for breakfast!“

„I did. I bought those last night.“

Crowley scowled but he did bite into his apple. It was delicious.

 

They sat like this for a while, not talking, just silently enjoying their apples and the rest of the sunrise. Crowley, who had pushed his sunglasses up his head, was squinting a bit while his eyes slowly adjusted to the unusual brightness.

On his left side, Aziraphale let out a content sigh, closed his eyes and tilted his head back to get more sunlight on his face. Crowley looked at him with what he decided was most definitely _not_ affection seeing as demons felt no such thing and Crowley was a _very_ demonic demon indeed.

When he raised his hand again to eat the last bit of apple, something caught his eye. The demon frowned, apple temporarily forgotten, and leaned over.

„You really ought to take better care of your wings, angel. They're a complete mess!“, he said and, unthinkingly, stretched out a hand to smooth down a few disorderly feathers.

 

~~~

 

Crowley's body had acted long before his mind could even begin to comprehend. His fingers brushed against Aziraphale's wing; combing through the feathers and carefully straightening out the two sticking out at the tip.

Time seemed to have slowed down. Crowley's eyes widened in shock when he realized what it was he was doing but it was too late: The movement was completed before he even became aware of raising his hand; the action coming as naturally to him as breathing.

Crowley forced himself to pull his hand back slowly. His felt the heat rise in his face and his mouth suddenly became very dry. He found himself unable to look Aziraphale in the eyes.

Wings were the most intimate part of an angel's body. After all, they were a third pair of limbs and the unmistakable sign of their divinity. To put your hands on anyone else's wings without their express permission was a privilege reserved only for your closest and most beloved friends; a taboo so strong that even millennia spent on the other side had not been able to shake it out of Crowley.  
He might be a demon and it was thus his job to push boundaries, yet even he considered touching Aziraphale's wings, let alone groom them, a line not to be crossed. Crowley had done it nonetheless. He swallowed, eyes closed.

To have one of the Fallen touch Aziraphale in such a manner wasn't crossing the line – it was driving over it in a truck at 80 miles per hour and flipping everyone the bird while doing so. Crowley very much wanted to apologize but the words just wouldn't come out of his mouth.

 

~~~

 

You could have cut the silence with a knife.

Aziraphale didn't even realize he had ceased to breathe. There was still a light tingling sensation on his wing where Crowley had touched him, the ghost of gentle fingers still lingering. The angel's own hands were gripping the edge of the low wall they were sitting on tightly. Although his eyes had flown wide open the second his feathers had been touched, it took Aziraphale what felt like aeons before he had put himself together enough again to sneak a glance at Crowley.

The demon didn't look at him. Aziraphale could almost physically feel the awkwardness hanging in the air. Embarrassment and shame were radiating off of Crowley like a beacon. The angel could tell he was sorry, that he was painfully aware of what he'd just done. After six millennia, Aziraphale could read his adversary like an open book. 1

His own mind, meanwhile, was racing. He was desperately trying to figure out what to say or, indeed, if he should even say anything at all. Perhaps it would be best to simply let it go. He knew Crowley was sorry. There was no need for his companion to say it out loud. But perhaps – and it was this the angel found most disconcerting of all – perhaps there wasn't even a need to _be_ sorry in the first place.

 

~~~

 

Aziraphale licked his lips before he spoke. What he was going to say now would fundamentally alter the nature of their Arrangement forever. It was a risk he was willing to take.

„You're right“, he said and, after a pause, added: „I'm afraid I've never been particularly good at doing this on my own.“

Aziraphale pulled up his legs and turned around so his back was facing Crowley.

„Would-...“ He cleared his throat. „Would you be so good, dear boy?“

„Of courssse.“

Long, slender fingers started to stroke through the soft, white plumes on Aziraphale's back. If the angel felt them shaking ever so slightly he was kind enough not to mention it.

 

Neither of them noticed the apple core falling off the wall. Tumbling down towards the street, utterly forgotten. 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

1 A picture book, that is, with letters large enough to read them from a mile away.


End file.
